


It All Fell Apart

by livinlavidalokid



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Depression, Gen, Language, No Slash, Non-Graphic Violence, Pregnant Natasha, Self-Harm, attempted suicide, general assholery, kidnap, steve/bucky friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2105349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livinlavidalokid/pseuds/livinlavidalokid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: When he was 12 years old, Bucky was kidnapped by Alexander Pierce and held prisoner for a year and a half. Ten years after Bucky finally got home, Pierce is released from prison, and Bucky’s repressed memories of his trauma is brought to the surface. He struggles to cope, and spirals into a depression that he may not be able to pull out of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story several months ago and finally finished typing and editing it today. This will be uploaded in three parts, two chapters and a short epilogue. The title comes from the song In the End by Linkin Park. Please forgive any typos. Comments and kudos would be much appreciated!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of their creators, nor am I seeking to make a profit from this.

 

_"I kept everything inside and even though I tried, it all fell apart. . ."_

* * *

Sometimes people do bad things. Some bad things are worse than others, but on the scale of bad things, what happened to me was pretty bad.

When I was twelve I was kidnapped by a man named Alexander Pierce. He held me in his huge prison-like basement for the first few months, and then later I was allowed to wander the mansion from time to time. Pierce had a way of getting into my head. He made me feel appreciated in a way only a teenage boy could appreciate from a father figure.

A year and five months after I was taken from the mall, I was roused from sleep by sirens. Apparently someone had seen me with Pierce’s housekeeper at the grocery store. I wasn’t allowed to watch TV so I didn’t see that people had been searching for me the entire time.

Going home was strange. Everything was different, but nothing more so than I was. My mom was so different from Pierce, he was firm and authoritative and my mother walked on eggshells around me, like she thought I was a bomb about to go off. In some ways I was.

Luckily I had my best friend Steve. It was strange though. He hit puberty while I was gone, and now he was huge. I was scrawny because for a year and a half the only exercise I got was walking around the house. And despite how rich he was, Pierce didn’t feed me much. I learned later that was a power thing. A lot of the things he did to me were power things. It took a while to realize how bad it actually was because I repressed most of it unconsciously.

Pierce was arrested and way too long after that he was sentenced to thirty years for kidnapping a minor.

Life went on. It took a long time before it went back to relative normal. I channeled my leftover anger into sports. After graduation, Steve and I went to the same college. I majored in engineering, him in business. Those were the best four years of my life. I felt like a normal guy, and I was able to put Pierce away in the back of my mind and all but forget him. I rarely had nightmares, and I was okay.

* * *

After we graduated from college Steve and I moved in with my mom while we looked for jobs. Even thought it had been nine years since I was rescued my mom has always been nervous to have me away from home – thus why I went to college only an hour away from her – and she was happy to have me back under her roof.

It was three weeks later that Steve met Tony Stark. Steve came home that night and told me he found us jobs. The next day we went to the fanciest auto-body shop I’d ever seen. As I looked around the state of the art shop Steve and Tony negotiated terms. I got the impression watching them that Tony was a very carefree person who had a lot of money. Great, as long as he gave some of it to me I’d be happy.

Tony told us that he had an apartment building his father owned that we could live in for a reduced rate. It really felt too good to be true, and my nature to question and distrust everything and everyone – this started after Pierce – made me quite suspicious for a while. But after a few weeks the only thing that was difficult was not telling Tony to shut the fuck up.

Tony’s other employees were an interesting bunch. Tony was a master mechanic, but he also handled some of the business with the help of his girlfriend Pepper. Once Steve learned the ropes Tony moved into the shop – sometimes literally – and Pepper and Steve ran the affairs.

Thor was the biggest guy I’ve ever seen, and the strongest too. He worked in the shop with Clint and Natasha who were the mechanics who took me under their wings. It took me a little while to realize they were together, but that was made pretty clear to me when I got to work early one day and walked in on them making out in the break room.

Then there was Bruce, who was a designer. He painted the cars, and was the most zen person I’d ever met. He had a temper though, and a while after we made friends he invited me to come to one of his fights – he was a pretty damn good boxer.

Together we were an interesting group, but I couldn’t help but love it. I had – well, still have trust issues, so while I’m a lot better now, I didn’t have a lot of friends in high school. Just Steve.

* * *

Settling into a routine in our new apartment was much easier than I thought it would be. I loved my job from day one, and my co-workers very quickly became my best friends. It was strange, having so many at once. That hadn’t happened since elementary school, and while I was wary at first of so many new people, I found that I fit with this group – though it was probably because we were all misfits in our own way. Learning everyone’s quirks was an interesting process. Like the time, two months in, that Steve and I arrived to find Tony and Bruce passed out under a car. They’d been there all night, tinkering and working. I came to find that that was a regular occurrence.

Four months after moving into our new apartment I woke up at six for no reason. I lay in bed, enjoying the warmth and comfort of my bed until eight, and only got up when I heard Steve moving around in the kitchen.

I left my room, rubbing my eyes and running a hand through my hair and was met with the sight of Steve making bacon.

“I knew I kept you around for a reason,” I said, grabbing a piece of bacon and shoving it into my mouth.

“Can’t you at least wait until the rest of breakfast is ready?” Steve groused, trying to suppress a smile.

“Nope, I’m a savage, you can’t control me.” I hit him with my best smile as I went to grab another piece. He smacked my hand away and pushed me out of the kitchen. “Ouch,” I joked.

Ten minutes later Steve placed the plate of bacon and the plate of eggs on the table and we both dug in. “So what do you want to do today?” I asked, my mouth full of eggs. Steve chuckled nervously. “What?”

“I told Tony I’d go with him to the hardware store.”

“Oh my god that’ll take all day.”

“Yeah, want to come?”

I stared at him, unsure if I was really willing to spend the afternoon in a hardware store with Tony Stark. “Sure, why not. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Three hours later, we were deep in the bowels of Tony’s favorite hardware store.

“Do you think he’ll ever leave?” Steve said, leaning over to me. I laughed, and Tony didn’t even spare us a glance. He was deep in conversation with the owner of the store.

“I don’t know why we’re even here, Tony already owns everything in this store.”

“Nah, there might be a wrench or two that he doesn’t have yet.”

“I heard that, and you’re wrong, I have at least two of everything. But Bill here is getting some new stuff soon, and I wanted to make sure that I had first dibs.”

“Of course, anything for you Mr. Stark.”

“Oh please, Mr. Stark is my father, you can call me Tony.”

“We call him Iron Man,” I called, and Steve snorted. I cracked up, and Tony just shook his head, trying to hide the smile that was threatening to spread across his face.

* * *

We’d been working for Tony for eight months when we were invited to Clint and Natasha’s for a party. She’d told us that she was pregnant a few days earlier, and in lieu of a baby shower she told us we need to get drunk for her.

We heard everyone already inside when we arrived, and Natasha opened the door after Steve knocked. “Hello,” she said, her trademark sly smile on her face. I always felt like I was missing something around her, or like she wasn’t telling you everything. Though, that’s usually pretty accurate. “You’re late,” she said stepping away so we could enter. There was a chorus of greetings as we stepped in.

“How are you late? You live next door!” Clint said, coming around the corner with a bag of popcorn in each hand.

“We came from the store,” I said, holding up a brown paper bag that held a bottle of vodka. Everyone cheered, and I handed it to Natasha. She looked at it sadly. She hated not being able to drink. “Sorry,” I grimaced. She smiled and shook her head.

“I’ll live. Plus, once he or she’s born and done breast-feeding I’ll be able to get hammered and make Clint stay sober.” We both looked over to where Clint was pouring himself another drink, a big smile on his red face.

“I look forward to it,” I laughed. I went over to the table that held the few bottles of alcohol that everyone had brought and poured some rum into my giant blue slushie that I’d gotten at 7/11 before we went to the liquor store.

“That good?” Clint asked.

“I’m about to find out.” I took a long sip from my straw and looked at Clint, smiling and saying, “Not bad!”

“Bruce why are you watching the news, this is a party!” Thor called, clapping him on the shoulder.

“I just turned on the TV and this was on,” he said, his brow furrowed and his eyes glued to the screen. “Wait, hey everyone be quiet I want to hear this.” He grabbed the remote off of the coffee table and turned up the volume.

“. . . Nearly ten years ago a New York man, Alexander Pierce was arrested for the kidnapping of a thirteen-year-old boy. He was sentenced to thirty years prison time, however today he has been released for good behavior. . .”

She went on, but I didn’t hear her. I couldn’t hear anything, except the words “was released” echoing in my head, getting louder and louder. It felt like my stomach fell to the floor and blood rushed out of my face. Suddenly a hand was on my shoulder and I jumped, my fight-or-flight reflex telling me to get the hell out of here. It was Steve. His face was calm but concerned, and he was saying something, but I couldn’t hear him.

Nausea swelled and I jerked out of his grasp and wrenched the front door open, throwing myself out onto the balcony and lurching over the railing. I vomited blue slushie onto the sidewalk below, my stomach heaving painfully.

“Bucky!” Steve’s hand was on my back again as I completely emptied my stomach over the balcony.

“Is he okay?”

“What happened?”

A litany of voices sounded behind me.

Then I was gripped by the desire – no the need – to know more. I wiped my face on my jacket sleeve and stumbled back inside. I stood in front of the television, listening with a mad fervor.

“. . . Only victim was a twelve-year-old boy named James Barnes. Barnes is now twenty-two, and declined an interview.” I felt sick again. I turned and sought out Steve, who stood next to me.

“They didn’t contact me,” I said, my voice broken. “They- what?” Steve looked pained. I turned back to the TV. The anchor went on to paint Pierce in a good light, saying how much he’s changed, how exemplary of an inmate he was, and how the nine years he served was too much for such a man. My knees felt weak, and Steve must have guided me to the couch because I collapsed onto it, staring ahead at nothing.

Finally I looked up, and saw everyone gathered around me. They all looked concerned, their faces full of pity and curiosity. “I-” I started, but my voice cracked and I stopped. I looked at Steve, pleading silently for him to explain. He nodded, his face solemn.

“When we were twelve, Bucky was kidnapped at the mall. He went after school to meet a girl from a grade ahead. He never came home. For a year and five months we didn’t know where he was. It was terrible.” He stopped for a moment, and I felt numb, empty. I haven’t felt this way since just after I got home again – the emotions I was consumed by after my rescue were coming back: anger, confusion, and overwhelming sense of why me?

“An old woman spotted him at a grocery store with a woman and called the police. They found him in the basement apartment of a mansion just outside the city. His captor, government official Alexander Pierce.”

No one spoke for a wile. I got my breathing under control and felt a strange sense of calm. He won’t come for me again – why would he? I’m not a scrawny twelve-year-old boy anymore. I’m no longer appealing, he won’t want me he doesn’t want me he doesn’t want me he doesn’t want me.

But, why did he want me? I’ve never understood, and the weight of that question crashed down on me, breaking through the numb haze that had settled over me and my breath shook and a moment later a sob broke out. Natasha sat next to me on the couch and I was soon enveloped in her small strong arms, my face pressed into her chest. Then Thor enveloped us both from behind. Soon everyone surrounded me, and I was smothered by affection and protective love.

“He won’t get to you Bucky, we promise,” Steve whispered from my left.

I tried to feel the warmth of their love but I couldn’t focus on anything other than the guilt and fear I felt because I realized that I wanted him to find me – I wanted to talk to him, ask him why me? The sick small part of my brain I tried harder than I’ve ever tried to ignore yearned for the attention I hadn’t had in nine years.

I cried, surrounded by my friends, wishing I was somewhere else, and I hated myself for it.

* * *

The next day, after work, I called my mom.

“Did you see the news yesterday?” I asked, exhausted. I didn’t sleep at all the night before. There was silence on the other end. A moment later she sighed.

“Honey, I didn’t want you to find out from the news, and I’m so sorry I didn’t get to you first. When they called I thought the story wasn’t going to air so soon.”

I sat on my bed, stunned into silence. “Bucky?”

“They called you?” I asked.

“Yes, they called and asked for an interview, but I didn’t think you would have wanted to talk about that man - it happened so long ago, and you’ve been doing so well!” He could hear the desperation in his mother’s voice, but he didn’t care.

“That is not your call, mother, I am an adult, not a child whose decisions you can make on your own!” I yelled and then hung up. I threw the phone onto my bed, fuming. How dare she? I stood and went to pull open my door, but stopped when I heard voices through the extremely thin wood.

The front door closed and I heard Steve’s voice. “What can I do for you?” Natasha answered.

“I wanted to ask you about Bucky, if that’s alright.” My hand fell from the doorknob. Steve hesitated before replying.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine. Though I think you should ask him. . .”

“I don’t think he’d talk to me.”

_Because it’s none of your damn business._

“You’re probably right.” They were silent for a moment. “What do you want to know?”

“What was he like. . . before?”

I heard Steve sigh. “He was loud, but reserved. I was tiny before I hit puberty, and Bucky was, well my protector. He beat kids up for me because I was always starting fights.” Steve stopped for a moment, and I remembered that time vividly.

Steve went on. “When he got back home, he was quiet. He only spoke when he had to. But sometimes, if he got pushed too far he snapped. Some kid at school kept badgering him about getting kidnapped and Bucky put him in the hospital. He got suspended for two weeks, and he was terrified someone was going to punish him, but his mom just hugged him. It was like. . . he _expected_ to be punished. My mom was working a lot and so I was at his house a lot, and seeing him flinch every time his mom touched him was. . . it was terrible.”

I scowled. It was terrible for everyone involved, Steve. You think I liked watching my mom tear up every time I flinched? Or refused to eat after getting in trouble because that’s how I lived for a year and a half?

I wrenched the door open, and a small feeling of satisfaction went through me when they both jumped.

“Hey,” Steve said, barely hiding the guilt in his voice.

“I’m going for a walk.” I crossed the living room, ignoring Steve when he asked if I wanted company.

I left angrier than before. Why would Steve talk about me? It wasn’t that I’d told him about Pierce in confidence, but I didn’t think he’d talk to anyone about it!

He doesn’t even know the half of it, though, and he probably won’t. There was a lot that I didn’t tell him.

I shook my head and started walking down the stairs. It was on the second to last step when a voice stopped me. “Bucky! Hey, buddy, wait up.” I turned and saw Clint leaving his apartment.

“Hey,” I replied half-heartedly.

“How’s it going?” I didn’t answer. Clint’s smile faltered, and he stopped next to me. “When was the last time you had a drink?”

“Few days.”

“Let’s go then!”

I shrugged and followed him down the sidewalk. His favorite bar was a few blocks away, and he talked about a car he’d been working on that day. I listened with only half an ear, trying not to think about anything. When we got there we walked inside, and when I showed the door guy my ID because I have a fucking baby face, we saw Tony sitting at the bar. He looked like he was already three sheets to the wind, and he waved us over. I sat between them, and immediately ordered a shot of whiskey.

That’s where I went wrong.

Two hours and many drinks later I was gone.

I sat there between Tony and Clint, not listening to them talk about different types of engines, and I stared into space. I was stuck in a memory, one I hoped I’d lost.

I was sitting at the dinner table, Pierce across from me. I’d been with him for three months, and I hated vegetables. He was trying to convince me to eat them, and I refused. I stared at him and watched his anger grow, my resolve wavering slightly, and that’s when he said, “James. I will not ask you again. Eat. Your. Vegetables.”

I shook my head again and he stood, both hands slamming on the table, face furious. He picked up my plate and threw it behind my head. I flinched and he walked around the table, hauled me out of my chair and jerked me over to the scattered food and broken glass. “Eat it.”

I made the mistake of shaking my head again and he backhanded me. He grabbed my by my shaggy hair, which he refused to cut, and dragged me to my room in the basement. He threw me in the room and slammed the door. I lay on the floor, my head hurting where he’d jerked my hair and my face stinging as I heard the door lock.

I wasn’t allowed to eat for two days after that. I drank water from the sink in my bathroom.

“Bucky, hey, buddy, you still with us?”

I came back to the present with a jerk, looking at Tony with wide eyes. I shook my head and mumbled, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. . .”

A moment later I was overcome with the need to get out of there. I stumbled off of the stool, barely catching myself from falling over.

“Bucky, where are you going?”

“I ca- I can’t be h-here anym-more. . .” I ran into a table and scrambled for the door, ignoring the woman yelling that I’d spilled her drink. I made it outside and gasped in the fresh air, but I still felt like I was suffocating. I could still hear that plate shattering in my head.

Suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder and I panicked, whirling around, eyes bulging. “I’m sorry!” I heard myself say. Clint looked back at me, concern sobering him up.

“C’mon Buck, let’s get you home,” he said, and as he put his arm around my shoulders my stomach turned and I bent double, vomiting everything I’d consumed in the last two hours onto the sidewalk. Clint’s hand grasped the back of my neck, and I heard Tony curse as he stumbled out of the bar. I heaved, and forced myself to stand back up and stagger forward a step.

“Shit, Steve is gonna kill us,” he slurred.

We walked back to our apartments - well, I stumbled, supported by Tony or Clint - and when we got back I opened the door. I stopped when I saw Steve standing in the kitchen. Then I took the last few steps to the couch and collapsed face first onto the worn leather.

I heard Steve leave the kitchen as Tony and Clint came inside.

“What happened?”

“We went to the bar, Bucky had a bit too much and then it seemed like he had a panic attack. . .” Clint said. I heard Steve sigh.

They spoke a bit more but I wasn’t listening. I vaguely heard the door close and Steve shuffling around. Finally a blanket settled over me and Steve whispered, “Oh Buck, you’re going to be okay.”

_You don’t know that Steve._

I woke the next morning to the sun streaming through the living room window. It was pale, early morning light, so it must have been maybe six-thirty or so. I shifted so I could pull my phone out of my pocket, but it was dead.

“Piece of junk,” I grumbled as I pushed myself up. I hadn’t moved all night, and my back and neck were stiff as hell. I stretched when a thought occurred to me. I didn’t dream last night. Every night since I found out Pierce was free I’d had some kind of nightmare. Most were just memories I’d repressed, but some were more. . . sadistic. I shook my head, trying to forget the things that happened in those nightmares.

“Morning,” Steve said from the door to the bathroom.

“M’ning,” I said. I made the mistake of looking up at him, but the bathroom light blinded me and pain shot through my head. “Oww. . .”

“Drink water and take a shower,” Steve said around his toothbrush. I stood and hobbled on stiff legs to the shower, throwing the curtain aside and climbing in. I undressed and tossed my clothes over the top of the bar and smirked when I heard them hit Steve. “Dude, these reek. How much did you drink last night?”

I turned on the shower and yelped when freezing water streamed out. “I lost count after seven.”

“And the panic attack?”

“It was hardly a panic attack.”

“That’s not how Tony and Clint made it seem.”

I was silent for a minute as I shampooed my hair. “I was remembering.” Steve was silent this time. I heard him sit down on the toilet and sigh. “It - it was, I think I told you - with the vegetables. . .”

“Yeah, Buck, you told me. I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault.”

“No, I’m sorry that you have to go through this at all. He should be in prison for the rest of his miserable life for what he did to you.”

I didn’t say it out loud, but I thought, what did he really do? I’m still whole, relatively sane. All he did was slap me around a little when I was a little shit - to be honest, I deserved most of what he gave me, the good and the bad.

Twenty minutes later we were at the shop. Steve went to his office and I went to get coffee. Bruce and Thor were there. I could hear Tony already in the shop. He’d probably been there all night.

“Where are Clint and Natasha? I didn’t see them around.”

“Natasha has a doctor’s appointment, so they’re going to be late,” Pepper said, walking into the break room.

“Is she okay?” The three of us asked at once. She laughed.

“She’s fine, she just has periodic check-ups to make sure she’s doing fine. Speaking of fine, can I talk to you real quick Bucky?” I stopped and looked at her. She had a sweet smile on her face. I finished making my coffee and followed her to her office.

I sat down across from her, sipping my scalding hot coffee. “I’ll get straight to the point - no, no, you’re not in trouble or anything,” she said, registering the alarm that crossed my face. “I saw the news the other day, and I wanted to let you know that this company and everyone in it - though we are few, we are mighty - is with you 100%. Whatever you need, time off, legal help, anything.” I was stunned. My coffee sat forgotten on the edge of Pepper’s desk as I stared at her smiling face. I saw the hint of pity, but I tried to ignore it.

“Thank you Pepper. I think I’ll be fine though.”

“Are you okay?” she asked. I was getting tired of that question.

“Yeah, I’m okay. It happened so long ago, I hardly remember it.” That was a damn lie, and we both knew it. She stopped smiling and the pity, now mingled with concern, grew. But what was I supposed to say? Oh yeah, I remember more and more every day, I’m not okay, and I don’t know how to handle it. She’s my boss, I couldn’t say that to her. I can’t even say that to Steve, and I’ve known him since I was four!

“We’re here for you, I hope you know that.”

“I do, thank you Pepper.”

She smiled again. “Okay, go get to work, busy day today!”

That day passed quickly. I threw myself into work, only stopping to look at the ultrasound pictures Natasha and Clint brought when they arrived. It was one of the 3D ones where you can see the actual baby, and not just a black and white outline. I wondered if I’d ever be able to bring a child into this world. I wasn’t so sure I could.

Luckily for her or him, this baby will have an army of mechanics to protect them.

“We’re waiting to find out the sex, Tasha wants to be surprised,” Clint said.

Saturday came before I knew it, and I lay awake at four am. On the news the night before, which I’d started watching obsessively, they had another story about Alexander Pierce: A Changed Man. I’d watched in dumbstruck horror as they interviewed him, asking him about his time in prison. Not one question about the _reason_ he was in prison in the first place. The only mention I got was towards the end.

“And what about James Barnes? He refused to be interviewed, so we don’t have his side of the story. Do you have anything you would like to say to him?”

Pierce had turned to the camera, face open and sympathetic. “James, I wanted to say that with all my heart, I’m sorry.”

“FUCK YOU,” I yelled at the TV, and turned it off. I stood and fumed for a minute, and then ran to the bathroom and threw up my dinner. Steve forbade me from watching the news anymore after that. Though, that didn’t really stop me.

I had just woken from a dream. Part of me wanted to call it a nightmare, but it really wasn’t. It was another memory.

I sat in my room trying not to move my leg. I’d been with Pierce for eleven months. I was pissed the day before - I can’t remember why - and I ran down the stairs, tripping halfway down. I sprained my ankle really badly, and couldn’t walk very well on it.

There was a knock on my door, and then it opened. Even if I’d said _get lost_ Pierce would have come in anyway. “James, how are you feeling?” I frowned.

“It hurts like a bitch, sorry. . .” I said, excusing my language at the look on his face.

“Well, let me look at it.” He sat on the edge of my bed and reached for my swollen ankle, gently prodding it. “This is why you need to slow down on those stairs, I’ve told you time and time again.” He shook his head, looking at me fondly. I remembered thinking: _he really cares, doesn’t he?_

I often forgot how I came to be with him.

He carried me up the stairs on his back and settled me on the couch in his living room. I remembered the tall windows were covered by heavy drapes - cutting me off from the outside world. He wrapped my ankle, gave me chocolate ice cream and sat with me the whole day, watching action movies and eating ice cream.

I lay in bed as tears pooled in my eyes with shame when I thought of how good of a day that had been.

He was kind, fatherly, loving.

I felt sick.

“I’m so confused. . .” I whispered to the air, pressing my palms to my eyes.

I drifted back to sleep, and my dream was blessedly nonsensical, and I woke at ten-thirty feeling relatively rested.

I did not forget my dream, though, no matter how much I wished I could.

I got out of bed, suddenly aware of how hungry I was. When I emerged from what Steve called my den, I saw him at the table with Thor. “Morning,” I said, going straight for the bacon that sat on the counter. “Thanks for saving me some.”

“We made two packages,” Thor said. I looked back at the small pile. “We ate most of it.”

“We’re going for a run, want to come?”

I thought. It had been a while since I went on a run, and I feared I was losing it. “Yeah, sounds like fun.” I got dressed in shorts and a tank top, my old running shoes tied tight to my feet.

We set out and I kept up with Steve and Thor for a mile, but that’s where I had to slow down. I kept at a jog for another three miles. I didn’t really know where I was, and I’d completely lost Steve and Thor. _Probably still sprinting, assholes._

I called Natasha, who didn’t answer, and then Clint, and was also greeted by his voicemail. Then I called Tony, who answered after the fifth ring. “Tony Stark.”

“Hey Tony, I’m a little lost, could you come pick me up?”

“Sure buddy, what’s the nearest street?”

I told him, and he agreed to come get me. To be honest, I was a little surprised he agreed to come get me. I thought he would have told me to find my own damn way home as a joke.

Twenty minutes later his fancy car rolled up to the curb I sat on. He wasn’t alone. A man probably a year younger than me sat in the front seat. Tony pulled away from the curb and started towards my apartment.

“Bucky! Hey buddy, good run?” I nodded. “This is Peter Parker. Peter, James Barnes.” I nodded to Peter, who said “hi,” with an awkward wave. “Peter’s a journalist, and he wants your side of the story.”

“I want out,” I said, suddenly furious. “I’ll find my own way home.”

“No, no, no calm down, hear him out. Peter?” Tony made sure to drive fast enough so that I couldn’t just jump out. Though, it didn’t seem like such a bad option. . .

“I’m disgusted that Alexander Pierce was given so short a sentence, let alone that he was let out after only nine years. My Aunt May and Uncle Ben followed your story religiously, and my aunt cried when you were found. For a year and a half you felt like a friend who was missing, and how that Pierce is out I hate the way the media is portraying him. I want your side of the story so I can set it right.” Peter stopped and stared at me, twisted around in his seat so he could look me in the eye. He looked and sounded sincere, but something held me back from saying yes right away. On the one hand this could backfire, and people will call me a liar and vilify me to glorify Pierce. On the other hand, maybe people will believe me. Both thoughts scared me.

“Can I think about it?”

“Yes! Absolutely! I’m writing this on my own, so I don’t have a deadline. I’ll worry about it getting published later, so you take all the time you need.” I nodded, and settled back in the seat.

A minute later we pulled up in front of my apartment and I said goodbye to Tony, and got Peter’s number, promising to get back to him soon. I got out of the car and went upstairs.

I went to unlock the door but found it was already unlocked. “Welcome back!” Thor called from the couch as I walked in.

“Sorry we lost you,” Steve said.

“It’s okay, unlike you guys I’m not a machine.”

“Ouch.” We laughed.

“I got a little lost though, so I called Tony for a ride.” I stopped, unsure if I wanted to tell them about Peter yet.

“You okay my friend?” Thor asked. I went and sat on the open cushion of the couch.

“Tony has a reporter friend who is sympathetic to my case, and wants to get my side of the story.”

“Bucky that’s great! You can get it out there that he’s the slime ball we know he is!”

“You’re going to give him the interview, right?” Steve asked. I looked down at my hands and frowned.

“I don’t know yet. It would be. . . hard. To dredge up those memories.” I looked up. “I’ve spent so long trying to forget.” They were both silent for a minute. “What do you think I should do?” After a moment Thor spoke.

“You need to do whatever makes you feel safe and happy.”

“We support you whatever you do, Buck.”

That didn’t help me. “If you were me, what would you do?” I wanted someone to just tell me!

“I would do the interview,” Thor said. “Anything to expose him as the scum of the earth he is.”

“I would too. I can’t stand seeing the news talk about him like he’s just a regular guy. He’s not. He took away over a year of your life, and you’ll never get that back.”

“Thanks Steve,” I said wryly.

“I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

“I know it’s true!” I snapped. “I’ve known that for almost ten years. That asshole stole two birthdays from me, a year and a half, and my entire life is different because of it.” I don’t know when it happened, but by the time I was finished ranting I’d stood and started pacing the living room. I could feel Thor and Steve watching me. “I don’t want to put myself in the spotlight.” I stopped pacing. “But I don’t want things to continue like this.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I'm just using them for their bodies.

Have you ever thought you'd made a decision, and you were set on it when you were around other people, only to have your resolve crumble like sand under the crashing wave of doubt that swept over you when you were alone?

That night and the whole rest of the week I doubted myself. I vacillated between set on saying yes to the interview and ignoring the fact that Peter had ever asked.

A week and four days later I made up my mind. I sat on the couch; my stomach in knots as I dialed the number Peter had given me.

It was eight in the morning on the dot. I'd been up since six, debating what to do. Last night I had the worst nightmare yet.

It was the night and the following week after I was taken from the mall. Before last night I'd completely blocked that memory from my conscious mind. My subconscious dredged it up and I literally fell through the recesses of my memory into the stark white, empty room I woke up in ten and a half years ago.

I watched myself, a ghost, as I woke disoriented, and when I realized what was happening I flew into a turbulent rage. I watched myself break one of my fingers punching the wall. I watched myself throw my body at the door, trying to break out. I watched my twelve-year-old self realize that I was trapped. I felt again what I felt that day. The despair and fury tore through me, and I again felt caged.

I watched, time as slow in the dream as it had been for me then, as I went through a week alone. Once a day food and water would appear as I slept.

Hopelessness filled me, both then and now, and I screamed as I had screamed then.

I jerked awake, still screaming, tears streaming down my face. I stared, wild eyed, into Steve's frightened and concerned face as he tried to calm me down.

Peter answered the phone, voice tired, and I told him I would do the interview. We set up a time that Saturday where Peter would come to my apartment and I would bare my soul for the first time to anyone what wasn't Steve.

Against Steve – and really everyone's – advice I went to work that day. Working on an engine was one of the only times I could forget what was going on. Everything was parts and pieces, and everything had its rightful place; if something was broken, I could fix it. It was concrete, systematic, calming.

After pepper kicked us all out for the day we agreed to do something fun together. Someone suggested bowling, so I found myself bowling for the first time since I was a kid.

"You okay Bucky?" I broke out of my thoughts to see Bruce sitting next to me in the uncomfortable plastic chairs that lined the bowling alley.

"Yeah," I replied, actually meaning it. "I'm okay. It's been a good day."

"Glad to hear it." Bruce was silent for a moment and I looked to Thor hurling the heaviest bowling ball the place had down the lane. He had five strikes in a row. I didn't even know that was possible. "You've got something on your mind," Bruce said. I sighed.

"I'm thinking about what I'm going to say to Peter Parker on Saturday."

"Ahh."

"Is anyone going to be with you?" Natasha asked. She'd heard our talking and sat down across from me. She was getting big now, and the baby was due in just a few months now.

"Actually. . ." I hesitated, unsure. "I was going to ask if you guys could be there. Both for support, and so you can hear it from me, instead of reading it in some paper."

Natasha's smile was sympathetic. "Of course, we'll all be there."

* * *

Saturday came before I was ready for it. I sat in the living room in the middle of the couch, Steve on my left, Natasha on my right. Thor and Tony occupied the loveseat, and Clint, Bruce, and Peter pulled the kitchen chairs over to complete the circle.

"So what do you want to know?" I asked, my stomach in knots and my mouth dry.

"As much as you're willing to tell me. I know it's hard to dredge up old memories. My uncle was killed by a mugger, and it's excruciating to think about, so I know a little of how you feel."

I swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat and nodded. "Okay."

Peter pulled out a tape recorder. "Are you okay with me recording this?" I nodded. "Okay, please state your name for the record, and then spell it.

"James Barnes," I said, and then spelled it.

"And whenever you want to stark, just when you're ready."

I took a few steady breaths, making eye contact with Steve, who smiled encouragingly. I steeled myself and started speaking.

"When I was twelve I had a lot of freedom. I don't have any siblings and it was just me and my mom. My dad died when I was three. One day just after eighth grade started I went to the mall after school started to hang out with a freshman girl. I was cool back then. I don't really remember the afternoon much. I mostly remember waiting outside the entrance for her mom. I only lived two blocks away from the mall then, so I was going to walk. I'd done it a hundred times, it wasn't anything special.

"I was one street away from my house when a car pulled up beside me and pulled me inside. I got knocked out, and the next thing I remember I woke up in a white, empty room. No windows, no furniture except a bed on the hardwood floor; just a locked door, a toilet, and a sink." I stopped for a moment, taking a few calming breaths. I avoided looking around, and instead focused on the small recorder sitting in front of me. I felt Steve shift next t me and I glanced at him. His eyes were pained, but he smiled. I took another breath.

"I was alone for about a week. I drank water from the sink and about once a day, always while I slept, someone left food.

"A number of days later I woke and someone was standing in my doorway. He introduced himself as Alexander Pierce, but told me to tall him Alex. I avoided calling him anything for the first month or so. It was strange, because at first he seemed so nice. I knew he'd kidnapped me, but he was being kind. My twelve-year-old brain couldn't really get the big picture, so it w-wasn't hard to win me over." I stopped as my voice stuttered. I could feel a grimace tug at my lips, and I looked up, trying to get a hold of myself.

"He gave me toys, movies, my own bedroom. I was still kept in the huge basement, but it was so big I never noticed the lack of windows. I wasn't allowed to watch TV, but I had any movie I wanted.

"For a while, I forgot my m—" My voice cracked. "My mom, my friends, my normal life. I had a new home, new things, new dad. . ." I stopped when I realized my voice had fallen to a whisper. I looked around, feeling miserable. Each of my friends had a different look on their faces, but all were some variation of fury. I hoped it wasn't fury at me.

"It lasted for about five weeks." I rubbed my face with both hands and leant back against the couch. Natasha adjusted so her side was pressed to mine, and she took my hand, squeezing it gently in her own. "His perpetual happy attitude shifted and he started to try to change me, to make me what he wanted." Peter took my pause as an opportunity to speak.

"Were you afraid of him?" I sighed.

"If someone threw your dinner plate at you when you wouldn't eat your vegetables, wouldn't you fear them? I was terrified of his anger. Very quickly I learned that if I did as he said, he was nice. If I refused, he got angry. He had a very skewed and extreme sense of punishment and reward. If I did good, I got to hang out in the upstairs living room. If I did bad, I didn't eat for two days. Sometimes three. Once, I was being especially mouthy, and he'd had a bad day at work, and so I got a "nice good beating," as he put it, and I didn't eat for five days. I have never felt such pain before. I chewed on my mattress just to have something to do with my mouth." I stopped, not meaning to share that memory. "That week was one of the worst in my entire life."

"Oh Buck," Steve breathed next to me, but I couldn't look at him. If I didn't continue now I wouldn't be able to.

"For the first seven months I did online school under a fake name, and I stayed in the basement in the dark. There was one room in my area that had a mirror and I didn't recognize myself. I was pale from lack of sunlight, and scrawny from periods of starvation and complete lack of exercise. Even when I could tell Alex was in a good m—" I stopped when I realized that I called him Alex, and it just slipped out so easily. I continued, my eyes wide. "A good mood I still walked on eggshells, because the tiniest things could set him off. I got a bad grade – which was anything lower than an A, I got punished, I didn't eat all my food at dinner, I got punished. If I talked about home not only did I get punished, but I got ignored. That sounds weird, that my kidnapper ignoring me would be a bad thing, but when they are the only person you're in contact with for months and months on end, the loss of that contact is a really big thing. Eventually I would be sick of being alone, and I'd beg him to forgive me and stop ignoring me." As I stopped to gather my thoughts I looked at Peter. I could tell he was struggling with whether or not to ask a question. "What do you want to ask? I'm an open book." Only then did I notice my voice held little inflection at all. I tried to smile, but it felt more like a wince.

"Well. . . I wanted to ask, the abuse you suffered-"

"You want to know if mind games, starvation, and the occasional good beating was the extent of it." Peter nodded. I could feel the air stand still as everyone collectively held their breath. "Yes, smacking me around was as far as it ever got. Sometimes he got weirdly affectionate, but it was like he was trying to turn me into his son." No one looked convinced, and I frowned. "I know I've repressed a lot, but I'm pretty sure I would remember something like that," I said, my voice a bit more defensive than I'd meant. I took a deep breath and got ready to keep going.

"My thirteenth birthday came and went during the second month. I'd been getting excited for a big party at home, but with Pierce it came and went unnoticed. Eventually Pierce noticed that it had been a year and I hadn't said anything, and he demanded to know when it was. I told him, but I had no concept of time anymore. I never saw the outside. I slept when I was tired, ate at least one meal a day with Pierce. I knew it had been a long time that I'd been gone, but I really didn't know how long.

"He surprised me on my fourteenth birthday with a Playstation and a bunch of games. He also introduced me to his housekeeper. He told her I was his nephew who had come to live with him so she didn't question why I'd been in the basement for a year and she never knew. In some ways things were better then. I could talk to a person that wasn't Pierce, and Renatta was a real sweet lady." I stopped, suddenly overcome by a wave of sadness. I sniffed, and tried to keep the tears from falling. Natasha squeezed my hand harder.

"I saw on the news just after I got home finally that Renatta killed herself when she found out the truth about me." I couldn't speak for a few minutes. Clint took the opportunity to get beers for everyone, and when he handed me one, I chugged half of it.

"Like I said," I began again a few moments later. "After I met Renatta some things were better, but some things got worse. Pierce got jealous any time I was with her, and I got locked in my room a lot because of it, even though I didn't  _do_  anything. It was really confusing at the time, because suddenly I was being punished for no reason. That's when the beatings got bad. Usually it was whenever I was bad, but then it was whenever Pierce was in a bad mood – which was a lot. Sometimes he was calm and nice, and then he'd be cruel, and just mean. He criticized everything about me, and suddenly I couldn't do anything right. The last two months were especially bad. I wasn't allowed to leave my room, Pierce would sometimes bring food and eat with me, sometimes he would just toss a bag of something in and shut and lock the door again. I stopped talking at all, because it seemed like nothing I said was right. He liked to throw me around just because he could. It culminated in him throwing me into my room one day, but my arm hit the doorframe and snapped. I think he felt bad about that. He brought in some kind of doctor the next day who put a cast on it. I didn't see Pierce again after that. He left me alone for a week. But two days after I got the cast on my arm Renatta came down to my room for the first time. She thought I broke it falling down the stairs – because Pierce stressed my 'clumsiness' to her to explain all my other injuries. She took pity on me and set me up with movies and food upstairs – something Pierce had stopped allowing months earlier, and doted on me. Pierce didn't come back, I don't know if he was on a work trip or just avoiding me because he felt guilty or something, but it was a Friday, and I was doing my homework when Renatta came downstairs and asked if I wanted to go grocery shopping with her. I said yes, of course, but the thought of trying to escape, which would have been  _so_  easy, didn't even cross my mind. But I didn't need to, because someone recognized me. Even thought my hair was so much longer than it had ever been, and I was a bit taller, scrawny and pale as a ghost, someone saw me and reported it to the police. They showed up that night. I was asleep, and when I woke up a woman I'd never seen before was shaking me.

"'James, my name is Maria Hill, I'm here to take you home.'

"'This is my home,' I remember saying, confused. But she got me up, dressed, and when I followed her upstairs Renatta was frantic, being questioned by police, and Pierce was still not there. I remember someone asking me where he was, and I told them I didn't know. They put me in the back of a cop car, and drove me to a station, where my mother was waiting.

"I'll never forget the look on her face when she saw me again. She was crying, and she just crumpled. I remember she just sobbed 'oh Bucky' over and over again, holding me as tight as she could. It was so weird, hearing my nickname again. I'd been James for a year and a half. I almost felt like I wasn't Bucky anymore, that that boy had gone.

"They found Pierce in DC the next day. I was questioned briefly, and a different doctor looked at my arm. I have no idea if the guy Pierce brought was even a real Doctor, but my arm hadn't been set correctly, so they had to re-break it to get it to heal properly.

"Then I went home. It was so strange. The house hadn't changed at all, but my mom had. She had only been going gray when I was taken, but when I got home her hair was completely gray, and she had aged so much. I got found mid-July, so everyone was on summer break. I had time to re-adjust, but it was hard. I had to remind myself that I could go eat whenever I wanted, and that when I did eat I didn't have to stuff myself to prepare for possible starvation. I didn't go outside much, because I forgot I could. And when I did go out it was strangely disconcerting to see so many people – especially people who recognized me from the news.

"I saw my other friends from school when I got back, but they'd moved on while I was gone; only Steve was really glad I was found, and back home, but we'd all changed so much. Steve, thankfully, didn't change a bit, except in size, and it was comforting to have at least one thing be close to how it was before. Steve didn't treat me like a glass doll like my mom did, and I could lean how to be myself again."

I stopped, amazed at how much I'd said. A half hour had passed. I felt drained suddenly, and I looked around at my friends. They all looked sad.

"Pierce got sentenced to thirty years, as everyone knows. I didn't speak to him during his trial, and when he went away I finally felt free. I hadn't realized just how much weight I carried the whole year and a half I was with him, but when he went away it was gone and I just cried.

"Then I spent the next three years in therapy trying to forget and undo a year and a half's worth of captivity and abuse. I went to high school, got into fights because I'd learned from Pierce that violence is the answer to a problem. I went to college and was the only one to lose weight freshman year because I couldn't shake the lesson I'd learned that I didn't eat if I got bad grades.

"But through it all I got better, and I stopped having nightmares, and slowly stopped punishing myself. But then two and a half weeks ago I heard on the news that he's been released, and it all got shot to hell."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for the most part it's just the nightmares. I spent almost ten years repressing the bad parts of my time there, and they're coming back in my dreams." I sighed and looked at my hands. My thumb was bleeding because I'd been picking at it for who knows how long. "I don't know what else there is to say."

"On the news, Pierce said he wants you to forgive him. Do you?" Peter asked, his voice hard. I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up.

"Put in your article that as far as I'm concerned Alexander Pierce can go fuck himself. He took away a year and five months of my life that I will never get back. He stunted my growth because he didn't feed me properly. It wasn't until junior year in high school that I really went through puberty. I never got much taller, and it took forever to get me back into good health. I was sick so much that year because I never got any sun and I never ate well. My immune system was shit – still is kind of." I shook my head, anger flaring. I leaned forward, my elbows braced on my thighs and my hands clasped. I stared ahead, not looking at anything, trying to stay calm.

"Is there anything else you need?" Steve asked, and I could tell he wanted this to be done as much as I did. Peter thought for a minute, struggling with something.

"You can ask," I said. "It's fine. I'm fine." I looked up, and once again no one looked like they believed me.

"You said that escaping never crossed your mind right before you were found, but. . . did you ever try to escape before that?" I felt the blood drain from my face as my stomach dropped.

"Yes. Once. It didn't end well," I said, my voice choked. I felt nauseated thinking about it, and had hoped I could avoid ever thinking about that night again.

"Are we done?" Steve said. It didn't sound much like a question, and I could tell he was trying to be polite.

"Yes. I've got everything I need for this article," Peter said, turning off the recorder.

Now I really felt like I was going to vomit; I forgot in the telling why I was telling it. A lot of people were going to read this – my mother, whom I've tried to keep sheltered against what I went through. All of my friends now had heard my story, and I felt exposed, cut open and on display.

"When?" I asked, my voice quiet. Peter looked at me with soft eyes.

"It shouldn't take me long to write it, but I don't know how long until I find someone to publish it. I have one more question though," he asked, and I put my hand on Steve's shoulder before he could object. I nodded. "May I take a photo for the article?"

I frowned slightly, looking down at what I was wearing: ripped jeans and a flannel shirt. Not exactly newspaper material, but then again, I rarely dressed nice anymore, I worked in a garage.

"Yeah, I guess. Just me?"

"Yeah, one of you, and if you don't mind, one of all of you?" I looked around, and everyone else nodded.

Peter told me where to stand and I went, trying to smile but failing. Then he arranged everyone around me and took a few more. "I think I got them," he said. He stepped forward and held out his hand. I hesitated a fraction of a second before reaching out and taking it. "I cannot express how grateful I am for this interview. I wanted your side, and I got it perfectly. I will write this article and do everything I can to get it published as soon as humanly possible. People will see the evil in him."

"I hope so," I said, letting go of his hand.

Then he left, promising to let me know when it's going to get published. When he was gone I realized just how exhausted I was. Exhausted, and hungry.

"You guys want to get something to eat?" I asked, facing them all. It was Thor who answered, his trademark smile on his perpetually happy face.

"Of course!" Tension released and everyone smiled.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Anywhere."

We decided on Mexican, and we took Tony's car and Steve's truck. Sometimes it amazed me how big my group of friends was, given that it was just me and Steve for so long.

I spent the evening laughing, as everyone had made it their life's work to try to keep me in good spirits. It worked on a surface level, but a deep sadness mingled with exhaustion beneath it, and when I got home, extremely tipsy on two strong margaritas, I fell into bed and passed out.

The next two days I slept. I woke to go to the bathroom and drink water. I forgot to eat.

I saw Steve once, but I didn't say anything. I looked at him as I shuffled into the bathroom, and then went back to sleep with his concerned gaze in my mind.

The third day I woke fully, and lay in bed staring at the ceiling. It hit me how hungry I was, and for a moment I forgot that I could just get up and go eat. Dredged up memories lingered I my mind, and I didn't know where or when I was. Suddenly I was thirteen and starving again and I cried.

Then the door opened, and I looked expecting a reprimand from a man, but was instead met by the bright red hair and concerned blue eyes of a woman. Natasha sat on the edge of my bed and put her hand on the side of my face. "Bucky, wake up."

I looked up at her, tears falling out of the corners of my eyes and struggled to bring myself back to the present. She gently shushed me, hands stroking my hair back from my forehead. "You're okay, you're safe. It's just me." Overcome by the need for physical contact I surged up and threw my arms around her waist, her big belly a solid comforting reminder of the now. Her arms settled around my shoulders and held me tightly.

We stayed like that for a while before I pulled back, my stomach reminding me why I woke up in the first place. Natasha stood and left the room so I could get dressed. I stepped out into the living room a minute later. Natasha stood in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot. "I made mashed potatoes and steak, come sit." I did, moving mechanically, unthinkingly. I picked up my spoon and ate, the force of my hunger registering, but not doing much to speed up my intake. I still felt bone-tired, and every time I moved, it was all I could do not to collapse. Natasha noticed, and kept up a stead stream of conversation, telling me what I've missed in the last two days. It wasn't much, but she managed to talk for a straight twenty minutes while I ate, peppering in occasional reminders to eat. "Put some shoes on," she said when I finished. She took the bowl and put it in the sink.

"Why?" I asked, confused. I still did it, though.

"We're going shopping. I need to look at baby things."

"Why me?"

"Because I know you're not doing anything today."

"I should go to work. . ."

"Tony's giving you PTO this week."

Something sparked back to life. Anger flared, still weak, but undeniably there. "He doesn't need to do that-"

"Oh hush." Natasha said, turning to face me. "Are you ignoring the fact that you just dredged up the worst memories you have, bared your soul to a stranger, and then passed out for two days?" I closed my mouth, cowed.

"But I'm fine now. . ." I mumbled.

Natasha's eyes turned sad. "Bucky, I don't think you know what okay is anymore, I don't think you have for a very long time. But it's okay to not be okay. You don't have to be 100% all the time, you're allowed to be weak sometimes."

I looked down, unsure what to say. So I didn't, I just nodded, and followed her out to her car. We drove to the mall in relative silence.

I'd only been shopping with Natasha once or twice before and it was always an interesting experience. She was just as intense while shopping as she was with everything, and she took her time. She tried her best to keep me occupied, though, and asked my opinion on a lot of things, even though I knew next to nothing about babies.

I didn't know the mall had so many baby stores, and after the third store we made out way to the food court so Natasha could take a break. "Being six months pregnant kind of sucks," She said, as I sat down at the table she'd gotten, handing her the drink I'd just bought her.

I laughed. "I can only imagine." We sat in silence for a moment, people watching. "Are you scared to be a mom?" I asked finally, not wanting silence anymore. She looked t me, eyes thoughtful.

"Yes, and no. I'm afraid of messing up, of course," she said slowly. "But I'm also excited. I'm going to give my kid a better life than I had – up until I left for college that is. Clint wants the same. None of it compares to what you went through, but we all had pretty fucked up childhoods. Mine is a story for another time, however. And you all are going to help. Except for you and Thor, we are the only family we have. Thor, the lucky bastard, has both parents and a bratty seventeen year old brother." I laughed, calmed by her words.

It didn't last, however. My phone started ringing. It was Peter. My stomach dropped as I reached for where it sat on the table. "Hello?"

"Bucky! Hey, it's Peter. Good news!" I felt the blood rush from my face and looked away from Natasha. I heard her shift in her chair.

"Oh yeah?" I asked, my voice small.

"The Daily Bugle agreed to publish the article! I'm putting the finishing touches on it right now and it's going to the printers tonight! It'll be out tomorrow."

I nearly choked on my own spit. "T-tomorrow?" My eyes flew to Natasha, and understanding dawned in her eyes.

"You okay?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, yeah," I replied hastily, trying to get myself under control. "I just – I dunno, I hoped I could read it before it went out."

"I'm sorry Bucky, but the editor of the Bugle is a real hardass about deadlines. I only just got confirmation an hour ago."

"No it's. . . fine."

"Listen, I should go and finish this, but I hope it lives up to expectations."

"Me too. . ." We said goodbye and as soon as I hung up I felt my throat constrict and my breathing sped up.

"Bucky?" Natasha asked, and I put my face in my hands, elbows on the table.

"Tomorrow," I gasped. "I didn't know it would happen so soon – I thought I'd have more time."

"More time for what?" Natasha asked softly, and I could tell without looking at her that she thought I was being stupid – she didn't say anything else though.

"To prepare, I guess." I tried to get my breathing under control, but I was failing. I heard Natasha stand, groaning softly as her back cracked. She came around the table and sat in the chair next to me, her knees pressed into my thigh and her hand don my shoulder.

"Bucky, look at me." Her voice was firm this time. I looked at her, blinking furiously to get the few tears that welled up out of my eyes. "I know this scares you. I would never want my secrets in the news like that, but you are so brave. So, so brace, and your story is going to change things. I need you to calm down, okay?" I took a deep, shaky breath and nodded, my eyes locked on hers. Once I could breathe again she smiled. "Are you going to be okay?" I nodded, though unsure. "Do you want to go home?"

"No, I'm fine," I whispered. "We can finish here," I said, my voice stronger. I returned her smile as best as I could.

"Alright then, finish your drink."

"Yes mom." I laughed as she smacked my arm.

* * *

That night I woke up at three am, Steve's face worried over mine as I tried to wake up enough to stop screaming.

"Buck, Bucky wake up." Steve shook me, and I looked around, eyes wild. I shook Steve's arms off of my shoulders and scrambled out of bed, stumbling as fast as I could go get out. I stopped on the front porch, gasping desperately for fresh air. Steve followed, and I caught a glimpse of his hurt expression when I shook his hand off of me again. "Don't touch me!"

He took a step back and I braced my hands on the rail as I tried desperately to forget that images that still swarmed through my head. Of how Pierce had turned into a monster I'd never seen before the day I tried to escape, of how he'd beaten me to a bloody pulp and kept me chained to my bed until I was near dead from dehydration. Of how he'd held a glass of water just out of my reach until I swore I would never try to escape again, and threatened a fate worse that death if I did. Of how he'd kept me chained up for another week just for good measure. Of how he'd tattooed me to mark me as his. The red star on my left arm still made me sick when I looked at it.

I opened my eyes as a wave of nausea rolled over me and I heaved bile over the balcony. I hadn't been able to eat dinner the night before.

I don't know how long we were out there, but eventually I let Steve lead me back inside. He sat me on the couch and left. He came back a minute later, one of my shirts in his hand. He pulled off the one I wore, which I could smell had puke on it, and put the clean one on me. He left again and came back a moment later with a glass of water. He gently urged me to drink it. I found myself parched and drank the whole thing in three long gulps.

Steve sat down next to me and I laid down, my head o his thigh, like we used to do when we were kids, only I was the small, vulnerable one, not Steve.

I felt one tear break free of my closed eyes and after that I couldn't stop. I sobbed, my hand fisted into Steve's sweatpants' leg, and cried and cried until I fell back asleep.

I woke the next morning, and looked up. Steve was still asleep, one arm limp at his side, the other grasping my shirt loosely. I extracted myself from his grasp and sat up, ignoring how stiff I was. I went to the bathroom and pissed, avoiding the mirror. I didn't want to see the tear and snot stains from the night before. I ran my fingers through my hair and brushed my teeth, unsuccessfully trying to get the disgusting taste of bile out of my mouth. I washed my face and only then did I look at myself. I needed to shave, and my hair was getting scruffy, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

I got dressed for the day and left without breakfast. It was only six, but I knew Tony would be at the shop. I needed to do  _something_.

Sure enough he was there, and barely gave me a second glance when I clocked in and got to work.

A few hours later everyone else showed up. Natasha, too pregnant to do her regular job, started helping Steve and Pepper with administration. She hated it. "I want to get my hands on an engine!" she pretended to whine to Clint as we got coffee.

"You can't reach the engine," he said, smiling and patting her swollen belly. She stuck her tongue out at him.

I took my coffee back to my station and got back to work. A few minutes later I heard Steve's heavy steps come up behind me and I paused to glance back at him. "Hey," I mumbled.

"Hey, Buck." He paused, and I heard him shuffling behind me. "About last night-" he started, but I turned sharply, giving him a look and then looking pointedly at Clint and Tony standing about five feet away. Both were looking up at us, and I felt the heat of embarrassment rise in my face.

"What happened last night?" Tony said, suggestively, and I scoffed, unwilling to dignify it with a response.

"Nothing, Bucky just had a nightmare."

"Wow, Steve, thanks." I turned and went back to work, ignoring everyone.

Around noon I was elbow deep in engine when I could hear everyone gathering on the other side of the shop. Curiosity got the best of me and I went over to join, wiping my hands on my already soiled towel. When I saw the newspaper in Clint's hands my stomached dropped. I stopped a few feet away from them and waited for them to finish reading. When they did they looked up and saw me waiting. "Can I read?" Clint handed me the newspaper and when I looked down I was confronted by a picture of myself, the one Peter took after I finished talking to him. The dark circles under my eyes were noticeable even in the grainy, black and white newspaper photo. I started reading.

When I finished I put the newspaper down on the worktable to my left. I didn't look at the others as I turned to go back to work. Tony's hand on my shoulder stopped me, however, and I turned. "Come on, we're going to lunch," he smiled.

"I'm not hungry," I mumbled.

"Like hell you're not, you didn't have breakfast," Steve said, his tone not matching the concerned look on his face. "Come with us, please." I didn't want to – I didn't want to do anything right then, but I went anyway. I could see the borderline desperation in Steve's face, and I knew I was starting to scare them. I knew I had to try harder, but it was just so difficult.

We went to a diner, and I picked at my burger and fries, legitimately not hungry. Stress and appetite have been irrevocably linked for a long time now for me.

That night I watched the news, without any idea what I was really looking for – news about me, a statement from Pierce. There was nothing, and yet I still slept very little that night.

Two days later, on Saturday, I got what I was looking for. Tony called at eight in the morning and told us to turn on the Today Show. I sat on the couch, clutching the remote as I watched in horror while Pierce talked pleasantly to the anchor about what a lying attention seeker I was. He said he was a friend of my mother, who had been neglecting me, and he stepped in "for the good of the child."

I felt sick, but there was nothing in my stomach to purge. I could feel the fury emanating off of Steve from where he sat next to me.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he yelled, and I flinched, unused to an outburst like that from him. "He can't do that!  _He's_  lying!"

"No shit, Sherlock," I mumbled, and there was no heat in it. I felt exhausted, emotionally and physically. I should have expected something like this to happen.

My phone rang and I pulled it out of my pocket, expecting one of my friends. I frowned when I saw the unknown number displayed on the screen. "Hello?"

"James Barnes?"

"Yes. . ." Alarm spiked. The only people who had my number would not call me James.

"This is George Kowalsky with the Daily Outlet, we were hoping we could speak to you about your connection to Alexander Pierce, could we set up a time to talk?"

My heart fell out of my chest and into my stomach. "No," I said, and I hung up the phone and threw it across the couch.

"Who was that?"

"News. Want to talk to me."

"How did they get your number?" Steve sounded as distressed as I felt.

"I have no ide – my mother." It hit me like a freight train.

"You think she gave some reporter your number?"

"I made it very clear that she wasn't the one to make those decisions for me anymore, so she must have. But how they got her number in the first place, I have no fucking clue." I put my head in my hands. "I can't handle this anymore."

"Bucky, we'll figure it out."

"How, Steve? How are we going to figure this out?" I didn't register my voice rise. "I can't win! I can't – he's bigger than me, always has been!" I yelled.

"You've never backed down from a fight to protect me, why won't you fight to protect yourself?" he asked, his voice infuriatingly calm. I stopped, and despair spread through me like mist rolling over a field. I knew the answer – because I didn't think I was worth it. I didn't look at Steve until he grabbed my chin and made me. "Bucky, I know you. You're a fighter, and you will not let some punk call you a liar without punching him in the face."

"I'd love to punch him in the face," I mumbled.

"That's the spirit!" Steve clapped me on the shoulder, and I smiled weakly back at him. I still felt empty inside.

A week later I was getting set up to record an interview with some big news network. Pierce continued to spew his lies to the world, and Steve convinced me not to stand back and watch it happen. The man who was going to interview me was older and seemed nice enough from the tiny amount of small talk we had. Tony sat to my left. I didn't want to be alone, and everyone agreed that Tony would be able to keep the interviewer in check if they crossed a line.

"You okay, Buck?" he asked. I'd been spacing out, my nerves eating me alive. I looked at him and made eye contact. "Jeez buddy, you look terrified. Deep breaths, it'll be okay, that's why I'm here," he said quietly. I listened, and breathed, but it did little to help.

"Good morning!" someone said, entering the studio we were in. I didn't listen to the rest of what was happening, and only vaguely registered someone touching up the makeup they'd put on me. I was sweating it off. I only paid attention when I heard Tony start talking.

"Alright, I just want to reiterate a few rules – this is not live, and it will not be used out of context. This is why I'm here, I have a lot of money and a lot of influence among some really powerful people. You will not refer to him," he gestured to me, "as anything other than James. If he doesn't want to answer a question he doesn't have to, and I have veto power on anything you do ask." Tony managed to sound charming and vaguely threatening at the same time. It calmed me a little.

"Thanks Tony," I said quietly.

Then it started.

"Good morning, James. How are you?"

"I've been better."

"I can imagine how this ordeal must be weighing on you. Being called a liar by a member of our government on national television isn't something to be taken lightly."

"Why do you think I'm here?"

"So, first of all. Alexander Pierce has been saying some things about your mother, about how she was a friend of his who was neglecting you. Is this true?"

"Of course not. Before he took me from the side of the road that night we didn't even know who he was." I tried my hardest to not sound exasperated, but failed a little. I looked down and scrubbed my hand over my face, taking a deep breath.

"So then why do you think he would say things like that?"

"I think that's an inappropriate question," Tony said at the same time I blurted, "To protect himself. Why the hell else?"

"Is there anything you would like to say to Mr. Pierce?"

"No."

"Do you accept the apology he issued to you on air some time ago?"

"This is escalating very quickly," Tony said, giving me a meaningful look, but I ignored him.

"No, I don't."

"Why not."

"James-" Tony said, avoiding my nickname.

"Because he chained me to my bed and nearly killed me with his own two hands when I tried to escape. He starved me of food and water and tattooed me so I'd always be marked. Would you forgive someone who did those things to you?" The interviewer stared at him, eyes wide as he blubbered a response. The interview was over pretty quickly after that.

"It would have been better if you had stayed calm," Tony said gently as he drove me back home.

"I know, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me. Don't apologize to anyone! You're allowed to be upset! In fact I'd be incredibly worried if you weren't upset. Now, how about we get a drink?" I didn't object.

Two hours later we were both hammered, and I called Steve to come get us. When he pulled up he looked disapprovingly on both of us.

"How's my car going to get home?" Tony slurred. That was when Pepper hopped out of Steve's truck and got into Tony's car. "You can't drive my car!"

"Neither can you right now."

I got into Steve's truck after pepper drove away with Tony. I tried avoiding his gaze but I'd always been especially perceptive to Steve's moods – especially when drunk. He wasn't happy. "What's on your mind, Steve?" I tried not to slur my words.

"The fact that you went and got hammered after an interview is not a good sign, Bucky, and I'm worried about you." Steve fell silent and I didn't know what to say. I rode the rest of the way with my face out the window, the breeze feeling amazing as it cooled my sweat.

When we got home I tried to go to my room, but Steve stopped me. "Bucky, what happened?" I stared at him, unsure what to do, and wanting nothing more than to melt into the ground. "Sit down, you look like you're about to fall over." I sat on the couch, staring outside at the fading sunlight.

"First of all, that interviewer was an asshole. He got me angry, and I said something I wish I hadn't shared."

He didn't sit down. He stayed standing in front of me. "What did you say Bucky?"

"I told him what happened after I tried to escape. I haven't told anyone about that. . ."I said, well aware that not even Steve knew. "I. . . That night. . ." I took a deep, shuddering breath.

"It's okay, Buck, you don't need to tell me," he said softly. A wave of childish anger washed over me at how calm and understanding he was being.

"No, Steve, of anyone you're the person I should have told!" I stopped for a second before continuing, my voice frustratingly quiet. "I'd just gotten done with a week-long punishment. I hadn't eaten yet, but he unlocked my door that night. That's how I knew I wasn't in trouble anymore. I got up sometime in the middle of the night and snuck upstairs. I opened the front door, not expecting an alarm to go off. I tried to make a run for it, and got halfway down the driveway before I tripped, and he caught up with me. He must have been in the living room or something, and waited to see what I would do. I don't know. He dragged me inside by my hair and down to my room, and beat me within an inch of my life. Then he chained me to the bed – which was bolted tot he floor – and left me there. I couldn't get to my sink, and so I went three days without water. Then he came in and taunted me with a glass of water until I swore I would never try to escape again. Then he threatened a fate worse than death if I ever did. Then he gave me the red star tattoo on my arm." Steve knew about the tattoo, but I never explained it and he never asked.

He looked staggered, and then collapsed onto the couch next to me. " _Shit_ , Bucky. What kind of monster. . ." He turned and looked at me. "I'm so sorry."

"No, don't do that. It's not your fault it's mine. I was being a dumbass!"

"Goddammit Bucky," he breathed.

"No, Steve, don't. I don't want to hear it." I stood, feeling slightly dizzy, and wobbled to my room. I collapsed on my bed and passed out.

My interview aired the next night. I was portrayed as a broken man who couldn't move past a trauma that happened nearly a decade ago. I started losing hope.

A month later it was all but gone. People on talk shows and in newspapers talked about my story with pity for Pierce that I still harbored a grudge. If they believed what I'd said about him, they didn't put any stock in it. They believed Pierce was a changed man.

My friends kept me away from the news as much as they could, but I still saw what people were saying. Every time I talked to my mom she cried, so I stopped calling her. I stopped sleeping. I stopped eating. I stopped taking joy from my work, though I worked more than anyone. Even Tony.

It was one late night that he came.

Steve tried to get me to come home with him at six, but I refused. I stayed and buried myself in fixing a really old, banged up car.

It was around eight and the door to the shop opened. I turned, expecting Tony or Steve trying to get me to come home. Instead I was met with the deceptively calm gaze of Alexander Pierce.

"James. My you've grown," he said, a stupid pleasant smile on his old face.

"What do you want?"

"To talk! It's been so long."

"What the fuck makes you think I want to talk to you?" I tried to ignore how my voice wavered as I cursed.  _He can't punish you now,_  I reminded myself.

"Such language, James. I taught you better than that. Have you forgotten everything you learned during our time together?"

"I've been trying."

Pierce looked at me, eyes narrowing. He moved across the room, looking around with vague disdain. I followed him with my eyes as if he were a predator loose in the room. "What do you want?" I repeated. "What do I have to do to get you to leave me alone?"

Pierce laughed. "Oh my dear boy, you ruined that for yourself when you did those interviews." He stopped walking around and turned his gaze on me. I stared back, eyes wide. "You could have just let it go. I wasn't planning on bothering you after I got released, but you jumped out of the woodwork, arms waving, and got my attention once again. And I'm glad you did. It is such a pity that Renatta let you out. I lost you both at the same time as I lost my freedom. You can imagine how a man might get bitter."

A creeping sense of dread spread over me. "Renatta didn't kill herself, did she?" Pierce laughed, and sickening chills ran up my spine.

"Of course not. She ruined everything, all to give you a car ride!"

 _Oh my god it's all my fault,_  was all I could think. My breath sped up, and my head started spinning. I made the mistake of looking at Pierce, and the pleased malicious smile on his face made me want to throw up. For once, however, my stomach held.

"You didn't think I would let her live after sending me to prison and taking you away from me, did you?"

"Oh my god." I could feel a panic attack coming on and my flight instinct kicked in when he took a step towards me. I stumbled backwards and tripped over something. I managed to catch myself on a table, but I slammed my hand down on something sharp. I could feel the skin break, but the pain didn't register. Pierce took another step towards me, but then I heard the door to the shop open.

"Bucky, come on, it's really la-" Steve walked in and saw me, bleeding hand held against my side, eyes wide and scared standing across from the man who'd ruined my life. "What the fuck are you doing here?" Steve asked, fury plain on his face. "Get the fuck out." He took several long strides towards me and stepped in front of Pierce. He was shaking with anger.

"Oh, I was just leaving." Pierce smiled. "Don't spread anymore lies about me, okay, Bucky?"

The world fell out from beneath me. I'd managed to keep my nickname, the one final piece of me that he hadn't been able to touch, and now he had it. I managed to keep it together until he left.

As soon as the door swung shut and it was just Steve and me I stopped trying to be calm. My breath came in gasps and I fell to my knees. Steve rushed over and crouched in front of me. "Oh my god Bucky, are you okay? Did he touch you? What happened to your hand?" I started to cry, tears falling down my face in torrents, sobbing loudly. Steve's knees hit the ground as he put his arms around my shoulders. "I'm so sorry Buck. As long as I'm alive he will never hurt you again."

We stayed there for a few minutes as I calmed down and got control over myself again. Steve let go as I sniffed and put his hands on my shoulders, holding me at arms length. "I'm alright, he didn't do anything. He just. . . I don't even know what he wanted."

"Let me see your hand?" Steve asked gently. I showed it to him and he winced. "This is pretty deep. . . you might need stitches."

"Fuck."

"Come on, let's go."

A few hours later I went home with two stitches in my palm. Steve must have told her what happened, because when we got home Natasha was waiting inside our apartment.

"How'd you get in?" I asked, but she just gave me a look that let me know how stupid she thought that question was. "I'm fine," I said preemptively.

"You haven't been fine in months," she said under her breath. I pretended I didn't hear her. I stared at her for a moment. She was almost seven months along, and quite big for her small body.

"Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself. You need to take care of yourself." She scoffed and laughed at me. I noticed Steve ducking into his room as Natasha patted the couch beside her. I sighed and reluctantly shuffled over to the couch and sat down. She looked at me, her face carefully blank.

"What happened?" she asked softly.

"I was working late and Pierce showed up." Natasha frowned.

"What did he want?"

"I don't know. . . he seemed like he just wanted to make sure I knew he knew where I was. He told me. . . he to. . ." I stopped, my voice starting to shake. "He told me that Renatta didn't kill herself," I whispered, not capable of speaking at full voice at that point. I heard Natasha's faint gasp and couldn't help the tears that started flowing again. "It's all my fault, I knew what was going to happen when I left with her, I knew he would find out somehow, and I knew she would be punished." I felt pathetic, but when Natasha pulled my face down to her chest and cradled me I felt fractionally better. She shushed me, and stroked my hair.

"It'll be okay Bucky. I promise, someday it will be okay."

* * *

I was rarely alone after that night, both because my friends wouldn't leave me alone, but also because I couldn't bear solitude. I felt like that fourteen-year-old boy again, afraid to be alone or ignored.

Yet despite the near constant companionship, I continued to get worse. A month after Pierce found me I felt like a zombie. I hadn't cut my hair in months, I didn't shave, and I had black circles under my eyes because whenever I slept all I could see was Pierce's sickeningly pleasant smile on his face. I saw Renatta blaming me for her death. I saw my friends telling me that they didn't have time for my problems anymore; that I needed to just get over it and move on with my life. I saw my mother blaming me for getting kidnapped in the first place.

Because I rarely slept or ate I was angry all the time. I stopped going to work, and I never talked to anyone because when I did, I couldn't remember what I saw in a dream and what actually happened. I snapped at them, and said so many things I wish I could forget.

I moved around like a ghost, purposeless, haunting the apartment like my past haunted me.

* * *

"Bucky, Natasha and Clint invited everyone over for dinner, want to come?" Steve asked me one evening. I was watching a movie without actually paying attention. My mind wandered, I was so exhausted. I looked at him and felt vague anger when his expression turned to pity.

"Yeah, fine," I said, only because I was sure he would tell me I didn't have to.

I stood and changed out of my sweatpants and into jeans and then followed Steve next door. It didn't really occur to me until I'd already shut the door that I didn't look in the mirror, so I really had no idea what I looked like. And honestly, right then I didn't care at all. Everyone looked surprised when I walked in behind Steve.

"Bucky! It's good to see you, friend!" Thor yelled from the kitchen. He stood next to Natasha, who turned at his outburst and smiled at me.

"Yeah, we were beginning to wonder if we'd ever see you again," Clint said. Despite how much I wanted to retort, I didn't have the energy to say anything. I gave a weak, pathetic excuse for a smile and sat down on the couch next to Tony and Bruce, who were arguing over something.

The night passed agonizingly slowly, and for the most part I merely watched everyone interact. I ate maybe three bites of the dinner Natasha made, and I didn't really even register what it was we were eating.

I felt empty, and pathetic. After about an hour everyone stopped trying to include me in conversations, and I wanted to just get up and leave, but I didn't and I have no idea why. I kept thinking,  _I don't belong here anymore_ , and as the night went on I tried to think of one place I did belong, and when I came up with nothing a sinking despair engulfed me and I had to violently shove back the tears that I could feel burning in the backs of my eyes.

Then I did excuse myself, making up a headache, and telling everyone I would see them tomorrow. They didn't argue, just said good night.

I slammed the front door closed and barreled into my room, slamming that door closed as well. I collapsed against it, letting loose a sob that had built up in my chest. I had no idea why I was crying, but once it started I couldn't stop it. I beat my fist against the floor, and then against my head, cursing myself for how weak and pathetic I was. In that moment I had never  _hated_  someone the way I hated myself – not even Alexander Pierce.

I should have been able to escape. I should have been able to handle myself once I was set free. I should have stayed quiet when he was released. I should have let him go on with his stupid life while I went on with mine.

I ruined everything for myself.

All these years I kept thinking,  _Pierce ruined my life. He's the reason I'm like this._  But then it hit me.  _I'm the reason I'm like this, and I can't take this anymore. I want to be done. . ._

I stopped smacking my fist into my head and went limp, my head lolling against the door and my fists lying at my sides. A solution to my problem presented itself to me. I don't know why I hadn't thought of it sooner.

* * *

I left my room at seven, having not slept the night before, dressed and read to go to work. Steve was surprised, but pleased when I joined him for breakfast.

"You look good!" he exclaimed. The night before I'd cut my hair and shaved my face.

"Thanks. I feel better today." We ate in comfortable silence, and then met Clint and Natasha outside to walk to the shop together. Natasha was getting very big now, and I honestly couldn't remember how far alone she was.

"Nat, when are you due?" I asked, slowing down so I could walk next to her.

"In three weeks! I can't wait to see how all of you react to a baby, it'll be hilarious. Especially that one." She pointed to Clint walking next to Steve. I smiled, not able to achieve a full laugh. Ever since I'd made my decision a thick fog of calm numbness settled over me.

Everyone else was surprised to see me as well, but after a while things almost went back to normal.

The day flew by, and before long it was six, and everyone was heading out. I was finishing up on my last project and promised to meet them at Clint and Natasha's for dinner in a bit.

Tony's shop was three floors tall. The first floor, which was mostly the shop, had a high ceiling, roughly a story and a half. On the second floor were the offices and the break room. Everyone had an office, but only Steve, Pepper, and now Natasha used theirs. The rest of us only went up there to file paperwork every now and then. The top floor was storage space, but it was mostly empty.

I grabbed something and went up to the top floor. There was a large, well-lit bathroom in the corner. I stood in front of the mirror and stared at myself. I hardly recognized the dull, nearly lifeless eyes looking back at me. I took a deep breath, waiting to feel something – fear, anger, anything to discourage me. All I felt was a numb sense of contentment, and the vague longing for peace that had settled in my gut the night before.

I took off my t-shirt and stared at the red star on my shoulder, the box cutter I took from downstairs clutched tightly in my right hand.

I wanted to die my own man, unmarked by anyone else.

I put the blade to my skin and started to remove the tattoo. It hurt worse than anything had ever hurt before, and I screamed myself hoarse, but when it was done I smiled. I felt free. I put my shirt back on and wadded up some paper towels to hold against the bloody hole in my shoulder. It didn't really help, and the pressure actually made it hurt worse, but the pain was invigorating. It made me feel more alive than ever, which was extremely ironic considering what I was going to the roof to do.

As I approached the ledge I threw the soaked red paper towels into the wind and watched as it fell to the ground. It was a long ways down, and once again I expected fear, but none came. I felt nothing except the pain in my shoulder. I could feel the blood screaming down my arm and dripping from my fingertips. I looked at my arm and was fascinated with the sight for a few moments. It didn't occur to me just how much blood I was losing, and the beginnings of dizziness started to set in. I swayed for a moment, but steadied myself, shaking my head clear.

I don't know why I spent so long standing there. My arm was in agony, and my only chance for peace was before me, beckoning me off of the ledge.

But then something happened.

I looked down when I heard cars driving around the corner. Steve's truck and Tony's sleek sports car pulled in.

The truck slammed to a half and Steve flew out of the driver's seat. "Buck! What the hell are you doing?" he screamed, his voice frantic. I looked down as the rest of my friends piled out of the cars.

"You weren't supposed to be here," was all I could say, feeling hollow. I didn't want them to see me fall.

I became aware of a war between two conflicting part of me – one was screaming, "jump!" while the other whispered, "don't." Looking down at Steve's stricken face I realized that I needed him to understand why I had to go.

"Bucky, come down! Let's talk about this."

"I'm not coming down, Steve," I called.

"Bucky." I was startled by a voice behind me. I turned, wavering in the wind on the small ledge. Natasha stood twenty feet away, out of breath from running up the stairs eight months pregnant.

"You need to not put as much stress on your baby, Nat," I said.

"Says the man on a ledge."

"I have to do this." I realized that I needed her to understand as well.

"That's where you're wrong."

I heard the other talking below. "Nat went up there," Clint was saying. He sounded angry. I looked back down and saw everyone gathered next to Steve.

"Bucky!" Steve called again. "If you won't come down, can I come up?"

"I'd rather you didn't. . ." But he didn't hear me. He ran into the building and a minute later he stood next to Natasha. I could tell he wanted to run over and haul me bodily down and to the safety of the ground.

"Oh my god Bucky, what did you do to your arm?" Steve asked, anguished. His anger was gone, but the panic was still there. I looked at the sleeve of my t-shirt and saw it was bright red. It was still bleeding, and the blood still flowed freely down my arm. There was a sizeable puddle of blood next to my feet. I reached up and peeled the sleeve up and showed them the deep hole in my shoulder.

"I had to get rid of it."

"Bucky, there are easier ways of removing a tattoo!" Steve said.

"I needed to do it myself." I looked out, away from everyone. "And I need to do this, Steve. It's the only way to be done with it all." I turned fully, back to the roof, staring out over the rooftops.

"Bucky. . . it's not hopeless, you can get better. We just need to get you some help. We should have done it a long time ago!"

"You don't understand Steve, I can't come back from this! I made my decision, and I feel content. I  _have_  to."

Steve stubbornly shook his head. "No. . . no, you can talk to someone. We can get you a restraining order, you'll never have to see that monster again. We can stop watching and reading the news, eventually people will stop talking about it." I laughed wryly.

"That won't help the nightmares or the memories."

"Please just come home and talk, you don't have to jump!" He sounded nearly hysterical. I wanted to look back at him, half afraid he would dissolve into an asthma attack like he did when we were kids and he would get too worked up over something.

"Yes I do!" I yelled back, half turning, pleading eyes turning to Steve. "I'm so tired! Just let me sleep, please Steve, just let me sleep."

"You can sleep, Buck, just not like this."

"No, I can't! I can't, because when I do all I see are bad things, and I just want it all to stop. I want peace for the first time in ten years. . ."

Steve took a step towards me, and I wavered once more in the wind. I was starting to truly feel dizzy from the blood loss, and my exhaustion battled the adrenaline that was coursing through my veins. I just wanted to be done. "Please Bucky, come off of the ledge."

I turned away. I looked down at the rest of my friends assembled below. "Why did you all come back? I told you I was going to meet you at home. . ."

"We wanted to go to dinner, and we couldn't go without you."

"We love you, Bucky, and we care," Natasha said.

"Do you?"

"Yes!" Desperation saturated Steve's voice, and he took another step closer. I turned to look at him and saw that he was crying.

"Stop," I said. I couldn't bear him being any closer.

"Please Bucky, don't do this to me. I can't lose you again," he whispered, and kept approaching.

"I said stop!" I screamed, feeling for the first time that night exactly where I was and was I was doing.

Something in me finally broke, and tears started falling. My breath came in gasps. Steve started crying harder, and behind him I saw fear in Natasha's usually confident gaze. There was a long moment of utter silence.

"Okay," I breathed.

"Okay?"

"Okay. . ." I turned and lifted my foot to step down off of the ledge. But then a particularly strong gust of wind blew through and I lost my balance, just enough to push me over. The last thing I remembered was Steve screaming my name as I fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments would be greatly appreciated!


	3. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I'm just using them for my own emotionally masochistic tendencies.
> 
> This is the epilogue! I hope you all enjoyed this short journey as much as I did writing it! Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought.

I woke up in the hospital. I had no idea how much time had passed, or what had happened, really. There was no one in the room with me, and I had no time to feel anything about that before I fell back asleep. When I woke up the second time my mother was asleep in the chair next to the bed I was in. I looked around, still vaguely disoriented and groggy. There was a nurse to the side of my bed, supposedly checking the monitors I was hooked up to.

"Oh, you're awake," he said, smiling softly. "Welcome back."

"How long was I out?" I asked, my voice quieter than I thought it would be. My throat was scratchy, and I was only then aware of how thirsty I was.

"We kept you sedated for two days. We had to fix your shoulder, and even though you didn't actually hit the pavement, you still had some minor injuries from your fall."

"What happened?"

"Thor caught you." I turned to the door and Steve stood there. I saw that my mother was awake and looking at me with exhausted, sad eyes. I looked away, unable to face her right then. "You were going to step down off of the ledge, and then you lost your balance and fell over backwards. Thor rushed forward and managed to get himself under you and soften the blow."

"Is he okay?"

"Your head collided with his and broke his nose, but other than that and a nasty bruise from where he went down on the concrete, he's okay. He's a pretty solid guy," Steve chuckled.

"It's you we're more worried about," the nurse said. "You lost a lot of blood from your shoulder. You will have a nasty scar."

After that the nurse left and Steve sat down next to my mom. I finally looked back at her. "Hey ma," I whispered.

"Hi, Bucky," she replied, her voice watery.

"Oh, ma, don't cry." She stood and closed the small gap between us, scooping me into her arms. She bumped my shoulder and searing pain shot through me, but I tried my hardest to ignore it and let my mother comfort herself on me. She cried for a few minutes before pulling back and looking at me, her eyes suddenly hard. She gripped my chin in one hand, the other on my non-injured shoulder. "Don't you ever do that to me again, do you hear me?" she said fiercely. She took a few more deep breaths.

"Yeah, ma, I hear you," I whispered. She left a little while later, happy in the knowledge that I was awake and okay – and with the fact that I wasn't getting out of the hospital for at least a few more days.

"We're keeping you for observation for a little while longer," my doctor told me. I took that to mean that they wanted to make sure I didn't try to off myself again. And in the long hours of the night where Steve, my ma, and all of my friends weren't there I couldn't help but sink back into that depression that drove me to the roof in the first place. It was strong enough to propel me there; it wasn't going to just go away.

The next day after I woke up Steve came in early in the morning. He told me in a little more detail what happened after I fell, telling me that Bruce had already called 911 before I fell, and so they were there a mere few minutes after Thor caught me. He told me that Thor rode with me in the ambulance so that they could check out his nose while they applied pressure to my shoulder. I'd passed out from the blood loss at that point. He also told me that Natasha rode with us as well. The rest of them followed in their cars.

"Why did Natasha come too?" I asked when Steve finished.

"I—the stress. . . she went into labor up there while I was trying to talk you down."

All of the blood drained from my face, and I felt nauseated again. "Oh my god. . ." I couldn't say anything else. The desire to be dead didn't really come back in force, but the desire to melt into the hospital bed came and I wanted nothing more than to disappear. I am an idiot. I said as much to Steve, who shook his head.

"You were in a terrible place. No one blames you. We're just glad you're here."

"Is she okay?"

"She's perfect."

"Boy or girl?"

"Girl. Clint says he had really hoped for a boy, but everyone knows he's secretly thrilled to have a little girl."

Despite myself I smiled.

That night there was a knock at my door. I was momentarily confused when I remembered that visiting hours were over, but when I looked over Natasha sat in the doorway in a wheelchair. A nurse wheeled her the rest of the way in. There was a bundle of blankets in her arms, and she smiled at me. "Hi Bucky," she said. I was overcome, and couldn't say anything back. She stood gingerly and sat herself down on the side of my bed.

"I'm so sorry," I choked out, my eyes glued to the little girl in her arms.

"Hush, I was quite ready for this little one to be out, so in a twisted way I guess I should thank you."

"What's her name?"

"Taisia Romanoff-Barton." Natasha smiled, and I couldn't help following suit. "She's got five uncles, and already has more attention and love than she knows what to do with at three days old." She looked at me as confusion spread over my face. "Yes, doofus, you too. Of course, you too."

"I don't think she needs someone as broken as me in her life. . ."

"Shut up. I'm her mother, I know what's best for her, and I know that you will be there for her. I know for a fact that I will be able to trust you to babysit her as she grows up because you won't take your eyes off of her for a second. Babies have a way of lightening the room, which will help you. Plus you're not broken, you're just having a rough time. Now you have one more person to help you get better. Do you want to hold her?" she asked after a moment. I hadn't been able to tear my eyes off of her until then, and then my gaze flew to Natasha's face, eyes wide in terror.

"Uh, I don't know—"

"Be quiet and hold my baby," she said, and then instructed me how to hold my arms before she set a three-day-old person them. I couldn't move my left arm much without a whole lot of pain, so she was cradled in the crook of my right arm, nestled close to my chest.

 _I have a baby in my arms. . ._  I thought, and then I couldn't help the tears that welled up in my eyes. They spilled over a moment later. "I'm sorry about the circumstances that put me into labor," Natasha said quietly, putting her hand on my head and then leaning forward to press her forehead against mine. "But I'm so glad you're  _both_  here. Bucky, you are an indelible part of this family, and I hope you never forget that again."

I held Taisia for a little while longer as Natasha told me about the labor, whether I wanted her to or not. Then I was tired again, and I fell asleep feeling marginally better than I had before.

The next day everyone came to visit me. Thor had a bandage over his nose and two black eyes, but he loudly insisted that it was nothing to be sorry for when I tried to apologize. I watched Clint hold Taisia and smiled faintly at how happy he looked. Pepper hugged me and cried, and Tony insisted on paying for everyone's medical bills. It was all a little overwhelming, but when had my friends ever not been overwhelming?

And through it all Steve was there, a comforting hand on my non-injured shoulder.

For the first time in several days, I was infinitely happy that I had not jumped off of the roof. It didn't matter that I had fallen off anyway, because something inside stopped me long enough for my friends to get there. I am so glad that it did.

* * *

I went home that night. Steve picked me up from the hospital, and when we got inside everyone was there. I was a little taken aback, but Steve was smiling like an idiot, giving himself away immediately as the planner. He stepped forward and picked something up from a box that sat next to the couch where Clint and Natasha sat. Natasha was in the middle of feeding Taisia, and raised her eyebrow when I looked at her and my face went red.

I looked back at Steve and gasped when I saw what he was holding. "Oh my god Steve, you got me a dog?" I wasn't overly displeased. I'd always wanted a dog. He held it out to me, and told me it was a Golden Retriever puppy.

"It's a boy, his name is Captain America," Tony said. He sat on the couch next to Clint. "I picked out the name." Clint smacked him upside the head.

We decided to watch a movie, and settled down on the couches. Natasha kicked Tony off of the couch and moved over so that I could sit next to her. Taisia was asleep on her chest a few minutes later. Captain America, or Cap, I decided, curled up on my lap, and the others either crowded each other on the loveseat of sprawled out on the floor.

I looked around and felt happy for the first time in months, surrounded by my family.

The next day real life started again. I was being forced to go see a therapist three times a week to start, and after my first appointment with her I was given anti-depressants. I was told not to return to work for another two weeks, and then after that to take it easy. It was going to take a while for my shoulder to heal completely. I managed to cut out about a half-inch of skin, and so there was a bright red hole that would turn into a huge mess of scar tissue. I was fine with that – at least the fucking tattoo was gone. When I was a little more in my right mind I realized that out of the whole ordeal, that was the one thing I did not regret. I physically cut Pierce out of my life, and I did not look back.

Not until three weeks after I got out of the hospital. I was on the couch reading a book when there was a knock on the door. I got up and opened it, trying to keep Cap from running out, and found a one-eyed police man on the balcony. "Hello officer, what can I do for you?" I smiled, trying to hide my confusion.

"James Barnes?" he asked. I nodded. Cap pushed against my leg, trying to get out, so I stooped to pick him up. "My name is Nicolas Fury. I was the officer who pulled you out of Alexander Pierce's basement ten years ago."

"I thought you looked familiar. Would you like to come in?" I stepped back and heard Steve leaving the bathroom behind me.

"No, I can't stay for long. I have some news for you though. Last night at eleven, a young girl was checked into the hospital. I can't tell you much beside that she said she's spent the last two months as Alexander Pierce's prisoner. He was arrested at twelve-thirty last night, and is now in custody." I felt the air leave my lungs, and I slumped against the doorframe, ignoring the shot of pain that lanced through my still healing shoulder. "He's going away for a long time this time."

I felt hands on me as Steve moved me so I wasn't leaning on my wound. "Thank you so much for telling us officer. I can't tell you how much it means to know that that monster is back where he belongs," Steve said, his voice clear and strong. I nodded blankly.

"Mr. Barnes? Are you alright?" Fury asked tentatively. I nodded again, forcing myself to snap out of it.

"It's been a very long and difficult few weeks."

"Well, I'll leave you with the good news then. Have a wonderful day."

"You too. . ." When the door was shut I put Cap back down and turned to look at Steve. "He's gone."

Then I laughed. Happiness overwhelmed me. I felt like a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders, and I felt free again. I hugged Steve, and he squeezed me hard. I could tell he was just as happy.

We called our friends to tell them the news, and Tony hosted a party that night – a sedate one, because Natasha wasn't ready to hand Taisia over to a nanny yet – to celebrate.

The next few months were difficult. Despite knowing Pierce was locked up I still had nightmares, and residual effects from my own captivity that had come back in the months following Pierce's initial release still cropped up. I still had a difficult relationship with food, but I was slowly putting back on the weight that I'd lost. I still had difficulty sleeping, but every night was just a little easier than the last. Eventually my skin was no longer pale and sallow, and my hair wasn't limp and dead looking. There was life in my eyes once again once the dark circles finally went away. I could laugh, I could make jokes; I could hang out with my friends and actually participate in their conversations.

I started taking Cap on runs every morning. Steve came too, but he always outran us. I went to therapy three times a week, and it actually helped.

Eventually the nightmares grew fewer and fewer. I stopped thinking about Pierce.

I was happy again.

The End.


End file.
